A jagged bolt of lightning made ghastly phantoms of the tangled limbs above his head. The explosion of thunder was so close it shook the ground. The cold rain came in a torrent, and he was drenched before a hundred beatings of his heart. A shiver shuddered through him, and with it an unreasonable surge of optimism.
He pushed hard with his legs and jammed his back into the tree, lessening the pressure on his raw wrists. He twisted his hands and wriggled his fingers. The odd sensation of dead appendages was replaced by a prickling rush of blood. Like a glove of thorns being ripped away, the tiny spikes of pain were replaced by a welcomed tingling as feeling came again. He felt the warmth of blood flowing from his wrists and dripping from his fingers.
An explosion of light and a shock wave of thunder came at once. The trunk of a nearby koompassia tree split and burst into flame. Something moved in the flickering light. Qhuin saw it at the corner of his eye. The sounds it made were covered by the rain pelting down on the broad leaves of the tree. Qhuin stiffened every muscle and held perfectly still. The menagerie of creatures from folktales of the southern wilderness skulked from the shadows of his mind. He struggled to push his fears aside.
He squinted into the darkness without seeing. He strained to separate the alien sounds he heard from the racket of the rain. It was guttural and muffled like the grunt of a wild boar rooting up a storm of muck with tusks and snout.
Lightning flashed, and he twisted against the chains. Whatever it was, it moved again at the edge of his vision. His view was limited, but the sputtering fire of the nearby tree cast an eerie light. He got only a glimpse, but it was enough to ram a spike of fear into his chest. Whatever it was, there were two of them, and they were big.
The sounds grew louder. Footfalls in the layers of rotted leaves. The sour stench of overturned humus mingled with the scent of rain. Or was the rotted smell from whatever lurked in the darkness?
Qhuin was blinded by another flash of lightning and squinted against the blackness. He shook his head and fluttered his eyes to clear the rain away. The creatures were dark shapes moving in dark shadows. They circled right, then turned toward him—two bristled humps skulking closer.
The lightning came again. The shimmer of light lingered in the clouds, and he saw the beasts clearly. One was a few strides away. The other was closer. It was an ugly creature with red mucus oozing from its long nose and quivering nostrils sniffing at its prey. Its eyes were black holes surrounded by a web of blood. Long yellow teeth thrust up from the lower jaw and protruded from its snarling upper lip.
Wet hair clung to its body like the skin of a reptile. The animal was bigger than a full-grown Alaunt and twice as long.
The fetid stench came from them, and the rain only added to the stink of wet fur. The giant carnivorous rats of the Tallgrass Prairie had followed them to camp. The shimmering of sheet lightning ended. The rats disappeared in the darkness.
Qhuin squeezed his eyes tight to adjust to the loss of light, but he dared not leave them closed.
With a wet smack, the putrid slime of the rat’s nose pushed into Qhuin’s face. It stank of rotted fish or feces or something worse he didn’t recognize. Bile erupted in his throat. He jerked back, slamming his head into the rough bark with such force that he suffered a rush of blackness. He shook the fog away and kicked at the animal with his shackled legs. His feet struck a glancing blow off its head. It shrieked in anger. His second kick was double boots to the chest, and the rat tumbled away.
Qhuin kicked again into the darkness where the giant rodent had been. He was breathing hard. The muscles of his legs were on fire. With every thrust of his legs, the shackles rubbed more flesh from his wrists. The rain poured over his face, making it almost impossible to see, but there was nothing to look at in the blackness. The latent image of the hideous flesh-eating rat glowed at the back of his eye. His kicking continued.
Another shimmer of lightning irradiated the battleground. The closer of the two giant rats weaved its head from side to side. The mucus of its nose was red with blood that gushed from a flap of flesh where its fang had broken off. Qhuin’s kicks had done the damage. Its bulging eyes never wavered.
As darkness came again, Qhuin realized the rain had slowed and wondered if the second rat was gone . . .
It felt as if a rusty nail had been plunged into his hand. The giant rat’s teeth pierced his bloodied flesh. Drawn by the scent of Qhuin’s blood, the first rat had circled the tree.
Qhuin jerked his hand from the creature’s mouth and writhed against the chain. He opened and closed his fingers as violently as he could in a desperate effort to frighten it away.
“Get away!” Qhuin growled. “Get away!”
Driven to a frenzy by the taste of blood, the rat bit Qhuin’s other hand. It clenched its jaw and twisted its head. Qhuin shook his hand as madly as he could.
A shaft of moonlight burst through the tumult of clouds and fell into the woods. The broken blue light enabled him to see, but the chains would not allow him to escape.
The realization of what was happening enveloped him in a deluge of horror. He flung his leg backward around the tree as far as he could. He had to get the monster off his hand. Pain clawed the muscles of his leg as he stretched them beyond their limit.
In the moment of distraction, the bigger rat attacked from the front, aiming for his throat with its fangs.
Qhuin whirled back and ducked his head. One fang sank into the leather shoulder yoke. Another other dug into his neck. But the stub of the broken tooth and ragged wad of bloodied flesh didn’t break his skin.
It was a small victory. The other rat still gnawed on his hand. The only thing saving it was the iron shackle and the wrap of chain.
The big rat wriggled itself free and clenched Qhuin’s head with a clawed front foot and lunged for the other side of his neck. The putrid fang poised to puncture the artery in Qhuin’s neck would have ended his life except . . .
There was a tiny rush of wind as the point of an iron arrow found its mark.
The arrow struck the giant rat in front of its ear. The point pierced its brain and ripped half its head away when it exited the other side. The impact rolled the creature away from Qhuin. It was stone dead with hardly a quiver.
Before he understood what had happened, a second thud and rush of air sounded from behind the tree, and the pressure of the jaws on his hand vanished. Qhuin twisted in the direction of the camp.
The bowman stood at the edge of the woods, his face in deep shadow, his body a silhouette. Dark clouds rolled away, and moonlight drenched the fabric of the tents behind him.
The night was perfectly still. The only sound was the melodic noise of droplets falling from leaf and branch into shallow pools of rain. The arrow had ended the deafening noise that Qhuin now realized was only in his head. Qhuin could not imagine who dared defy Princeling Sargon’s orders that none go near the prisoner. He squinted against the darkness but could not see the bowman’s face.
The archer nodded graciously, then, shouldering his bow, turned and walked toward the sleeping camp. He walked with a hobbling gait on the side of his ruined foot.
CHAPTER 61
“Horkus!” the kingsrider shouted to his companion. “Come lookit what I found.” He bit into his handful of grapes, then cast them aside and took out his sword.
Ashar sat in the huddle of leaves with both arms wrapped around Celestine. He dared not breathe. He had a blurry view of the kingsriders through the patch of leaves.
The other kingsrider came for a look without removing his yoke.
“Ya ever see one like that?” the first man asked. He reached his sword into the vines and lifted a green snake across the blade. It was hardly the length of a man’s arm and not very thick. It coiled around the blade with unblinking eyes and a flicking, forked tongue.
Horkus stepped back. “That one can kill you ’fore you can say
‘Kiss the king’s arse.’ Kill it!”
The kingsrider flipped the deadly snake to the ground and slashed at the head, but he missed and the snake darted into the vines.
They laughed and turned back to the path.
The snake froze in the shadows broken by a patch of green the color of its squamous skin, then crawled across the stark white skin of the girl’s leg.
“Don’t move,” Ashar whispered in Celestine’s ear.
She might have screamed, but Ashar put his hand over her mouth. They watched in breathless terror as the deadly creature slithered up her leg and across her lap. It paused to taste the air with its flickering tongue.
Ashar glanced at the kingsmen. The bigger of the two settled the yoke and adjusted the buckets, and then followed the other kingsriders headed down the trail for water. The snake crawled away.
It was hours before Ashar and Celestine dared to move.
Beyond the Narrows, beyond Leviathan Deeps, beyond Stone Island at the edge of the great sea, the moon rose cold and gray. The light was faint but bright enough for Ashar and Celestine to escape—or for bandits and kingsriders to see them.
They waited as long as they dared, then ascended the broad stone steps from the last of the terraces to the central courtyard. They crouched beside the east wall that ran the length of the outer court and found a place to hide.
The wall was overgrown with climbing weeds and brush on either side of the gate but offered little in the way of concealment. It was built a century before when two celebrants fell from the open court during the festival of Yasribsóg. Their bodies were never found, and some believed their spirits walked the wall on moonless nights.
Ashar knew the local lore, but gave the spirits of the wall no thought. Every wall and building, monument and tower, and even misshapen stones had been given a place in folklore. Hauntings by the spirits of the dead were always the most engaging tales, and Ashar knew them all. The complex of the temple and settlement of priests was the world of the postulants, and boys with fine imaginations made the most of it.
Ashar shuddered as the reality of the past days finally settled over him. The world I knew has ended in violence. A thousand years of peaceful worship on the Mountain of God—ended with the single sweep of an assassin’s blade. An assassin against whom I am now pitted in a race to find the stones of light, lest the world be plunged into darkness and immortal evil reigns for ever. The thoughts filled Ashar’s head like hornets knocked from their nest.
He rose slowly and peered over the wall. A fire burned near the obelisk at the center of the outer court. Four men sat at the fire, roasting a dog on a makeshift spit. They passed around a goatskin flask.
From the boisterous tone of their laughter and vulgar speech, Ashar surmised the desecrators imbibed more than wine. Two of them looked more like men who might ride under the banner of the king, but if they’d once been kingsriders, they were bandits now.
A sudden gust of wind turned the smoke, and three of the men stumbled back, choking and cursing. The windstorm grew stronger, and the flames blew sideways in a flurry of embers and soot. The men scrambled to contain the blaze and braced themselves against the power of the gale. The storm continued to rise, and the roar of it drowned out the men’s voices. Ashar had never experienced such fierce winds on the mountain.
From where Ashar and Celestine were hiding, the only path to safety was the stairs at the south end of the outer court. If the brigands remained camped in the courtyard throughout the night, escape would be impossible. Come dawn, Ashar and Celestine would have to retreat to their hiding place among the grapes. Among the snakes.
Ashar dropped back and settled against the wall. Celestine’s hair was blown and tangled across her face. Her skin glowed in the moonlight. Her eyes were wide and expectant. Fearful. Ashar offered a reassuring smile and took her hand. He whispered loudly in order to be heard above the roar of the wind. “As soon as they leave, we will go,” he said. “We are going to be all right.” He squeezed her hand, and she smiled. With his other hand, he clutched the mysterious stones in the leather satchel.
Three hours passed. Ashar watched from where he and Celestine remained hidden by the wall. The men did not leave. Two had wandered away, but the others remained and were huddled now against the wind.
Perhaps they can’t leave. The thought came in a jolt of realization. They guard the entrance to where the others sleep and will stay the night.
Ashar appreciated the unrelenting fierceness of the wind. He could see from the posture and actions of the guardsmen, they were unnerved by the strange tempest. Their fire had blown out. They huddled with their backs to the wind and hardly glanced around.
The temple kept no men-at-arms. Ashar was certain that whoever had not been killed had been herded away and put under guard. What of the other virgins of the temple? He glanced at Celestine, hoping for her sake that her sisters were still alive.
The windstorm drove patches of dark clouds across the sky. Moonlight chased shadows across the outer court. Celestine was curled up and trembling in the cold. She had fallen into restless sleep, her face drawn tight. Ashar knew they could wait no longer.
He awakened Celestine with a gentle hand on her shoulder and a finger to his lips. Though the howling wind would cover any sound, he took no chances. He pointed to the moon. As a tumult of clouds shrouded the light, Ashar lifted her to her feet and scrambled over the wall. With a firm grip hand in hand, they ran south along the inside of the wall.
Running in shadows gave them an advantage, but the darkness made them blind. Irregular blasts of wind made running perilous. Ashar kept one hand on the capstone of the wall as a guide and ran in a low crouch. Celestine remained straight and fairly floated over the stones of the court as if carried by the mystical wind. He knew it was movement that would catch the eye of the night watch, not the height of the couple fleeing the compound, but still he worried.
The swirling darkness of the cloud covering the moon was thin and brief, and when it passed, the court was awash in pale blue light. Ashar stopped and pulled Celestine down beside him. They crouched beside a decorative stone post that supported the wall. With no thought of propriety, he put his arm around her, and she huddled against him like a trembling chick beneath its mother’s wing.
Celestine stared at Ashar. Ashar stared at the moon, the clouds all blown past. The sky was clear, and the orb of night hung in a vast black sea of stars. The moon has never been so bright nor the winds so fierce. Ashar was sure of it.
He felt exposed and moved cautiously until he could see the men of the night watch. One of them rose from the huddle and took shelter behind a pillar. Another man stood, then squatted, his back to the wind.
Leave! Move! Take shelter! Ashar willed the men to leave their post. The stairs at the south end of the court were less than a stone’s throw away. If they could make it to the bottom of the steps, they would be at the labyrinth of passageways in the oldest part of the ancient citadel. It was a risk, but even if they were seen on their dash to the stairs, they could disappear in the warren of alleyways and reach the old road.
Unless . . . Ashar looked back.
Three of the men were up and braced against the wind as they hurried for shelter under the archway at the top of the stairs. Two of the men carried short bows with a quiver of arrows slung over their shoulders. A chill went through him. If the men got to the arch before they got to the stairs, there was no way they could escape. A person running to the stairs would be an easy shot for a seasoned archer who could take a bird from the air.
Ashar was suddenly grateful for the raging wind that would make hitting a running target significantly more difficult.
“We must run very fast,” Ashar whispered close to Celestine’s ear. He could feel her searching his face. The trembling was gone, her fear replaced by trust. “Are you able?” She nodded.
Ashar
clutched the satchel of stones and lifted Celestine to her feet. They sprinted for the opening in the south wall. As they raced across the open court, he glanced back, even at the risk of losing his footing on the uneven stones. The men were shielding their faces against the wind. The stairs were awash in moonlight.
“Glosno!” The name was yelled so loudly it struck Ashar like a bolt.
A man ran at them from his post at the bottom of the stairs, his armor rattling.
Glosno leveled the blade of his pike at Ashar and Celestine.
An archer sprinted across the court behind them.
There was no going back. They were trapped on the stairs.
Ashar grabbed Celestine’s hand and ran left along the length of the broad middle step. The raging wind slowed them as if giant stones were chained around their feet.
Kingsriders chased after them, shouting for them to stand fast, but their voices were lost in the deafening wind. They moved swiftly despite their armor. Glosno was catching up.
The step ended at a wide balustrade that ran the length of the stairs on a rank of ornamental balusters. The drop on the other side was a steep slope of rock with no place to land. There was no way to jump.
For an instant, he was falling free through the clouds from the Mountain of God.
Ashar moved when the impulse came and whirled toward the charging kingsriders.
The move saved his life. The fletching of the arrow brushed his neck as it passed. The archer at the top of the stairs nocked a second shaft. He had measured the drift of the wind and would not miss again. The moon cast him in an eerie rim of blue as if he was a spirit of the dead who haunted the wall.
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